Ace of Hearts
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: Love is like cards, and not everyone's a winner. Y/A, O/A onesided, at the moment
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: They pretty boys are not mine; I only borrow them, strip them, and bang them together.

Author's Notes: Well, I'm usually not one for making Omi-kun angsty, but the boy needs it sometimes! So, well, what better matter than love...and sex, don't forget the sex...

[The first chapter was written forever ago.]

* * *

Ace of Hearts

Chapter One: Bluff

* * *

The high-pitched alarms blared into the night as the two hunters bounded down the rusted metal steps. Taking off down the street, expecting the other to follow without command, Aya heard the squeal of tires as a nearby police car sped after them. Muttering a curse that even Yohji would cringe at, he grabbed Omi's arm and pulled him into a dark and narrow alley, not quite in time to avoid the very edge of a searchlight.

Out of breath, Omi barely had time to blink as Aya turned him around so that his back was to the wall. With quick hands, Aya unbuckled his own bloody coat, tossing it to the ground to cover his katana amidst the trash of the street. There was a loud slam of a car door and then Omi's surprised gasp as he was pushed back against the wall. Suddenly Aya's arms were around him and hot lips were covering his own. Then the spotlight hit them; neither moved.

"Hey you!" a deep voice called from the end of the alley, barely four meters away. Aya turned to scowl at the man, taking a half-step back, just enough to let them see his hand slip through the open fly of Omi's shorts.

"Oh God," the second officer groaned. Aya couldn't see their faces, the spot light forcing him to squint even to make out silhouettes, but he would bet heavily on this voice belonging to a new recruit; it reeked of actual surprise. The light lowered, but neither cop made a move towards them. The first spoke again:

"You boys see anyone come through here?"

"No," Aya deadpanned, returning his attention to Omi in order to suckle at his neck with a little more motion and sound than was necessary. Omi's hand clenched on his arm and the boy moaned.

Giving up on getting any useful information, the older officer returned to the car and could be heard giving a report loudly over the radio.

"Damn fags," the one with the light grumbled. "Why don't you take your little bitch and get a room?"

Oh, and did that not go over well. It seems that when faced with the full 'shine' glare, the Japanese police force is not equipped to deal. This particular member quickly sought refuge in the car, casting a weary glance back and quietly suggesting his partner dive on. Omi would have laughed except for the fact that Aya still had a hand down his shorts and was standing very, very close. After an pause, head tilted in listening, Aya pulled away. Bending down he retrieved his coat, tucking his blade beneath it and turning back to watch a blushing Omi struggle with his zipper.

"Sorry," Aya stated, making no excuses and expecting the reasons to be obvious.

"It's...okay," Omi returned, unable to meet those purple eyes and praying that the other hadn't seen the forming erection beneath his clothes. "It worked."

Aya nodded. With a cursory glance around the corner, they were on their way home in silence.

* * *

Ken sat at the kitchen table, clothed in a pair a gray sweats and looking generally comfortable as he played a game of cards before bedtime. The man across from him, however, looked about as uncomfortable as one could get. Wearing only a pair of silken boxers, Yohji held between his teeth what had to be well past the twentieth cigarette that night. He watched the back door, loosing hand after hand with his attention concentrated on his absent Aya. The two had recently been through yet another of their constant fights and the redhead had left angry. Yohji would never forgive himself if something happened.

Ken watched relief flood the blonde's features as the door rattled and their two companions walked through. Ken lifted a casual hand in greeting, but Yohji had him outdone as he was instantly at Aya's side. Despite the other's venoment protest and glare, he lifted Aya's shirt half over his head to assess the wound on the pale side. It was rare that the redhead should sustain an injury, but their mission hadn't gone exactly as planned. Still, they were alive and Mr. Stafford, who had sought his future by the deaths of his fellow gang members and other innocent bystanders, was not, and that was all that mattered in the end.

Soon a disgruntled Aya was herded upstairs by a hovering Yohji and Omi took a heavy seat beside Ken. Picking up a card he held it between his fingers just a moment before flicking it across the room and into a shadowed corner: the ace of hearts.

"I'm sorry," Ken said, reaching out to take Omi's smaller hand in his own.

"For what?"

"That you can't have him," Ken explained, nodding his head towards the empty stairs.

"I wasn't--"

"Yes you were. You've got that same look."

"What look?"

"That look you get when you see them kiss, or hug, or touch. That look you get when Aya gives in to somebody and it's not you."

Reaching up, Omi pulled the cloth and goggles from his head. As he spoke he clasped them in his lap. "Just once," he whispered, "I just want him once."

Ken sighed, "Once is not enough when you're in...it's not enough."

* * *

Aya, dressed only in a navy pair of cloth boxers, sat on the cool lid of the toilet as Yohji knelt beside him to tend his wound. It wasn't too deep, and only Yohji winced as he applied the alcohol. Finishing the job with a simple white bandage, he stood to draw Aya into his arms, dipping him slightly to the left as they kissed. The first aid kit was forgotten on the sink as the two hurried off to bed.

* * *

Omi winced. Even after pulling the covers over his he still heard Yohji giving Aya panting orders. Lower baby, right there. No, no, with your mouth; I love that mouth. Oh god, yeah, you know how. Lovely Aya, mine, all mine. Faster, faster! Then he moaned, Aya's name prolonged on his lips. There were a few muttered words, a small argument, then all was quiet.

"Lovely Aya," Omi whispered into the night, "why can't you be mine?"

Turning on his side, he rested his head on one folded arm. Aya didn't want /him/, not for who he was but for what he wasn't, or at least what everyone thought he wasn't. From what he could gather through wall-filtered "conversations" and Yohji's more than occasional quips, Aya played the uke in their relationship. He liked, or needed even, to be controlled. After contemplating it, Omi had reached the conclusion that by giving up the ice for that one moment, Aya could really feel...and that is what allowed him to fall in love with Yohji.

And could Omi give him that? Damn strait he could! With an indignant snort Omi flipped back the blankets, rolling to his back to stare at the ceiling. He was a man after all; control was in his blood. And the thought of Aya, naked, glistening with the sweat of passion, writhing beneath him...

With near trembling hands Omi pushed down the elastic waist of his pajama pants so that it rested just beneath his balls, rubbing against the sensitive skin even as he took his erection in hand. With light fingers he caressed his own flesh, pretending the touches were not his own. As he ran his fist slowly up and down he saw Aya kneeling before him, fisting a hand that red hair as the swordsman sucked him.

Giving completely to the fantasy, Omi let it take him.

_Aya' tongue worked subtle wonders against his heated skin, causing him to arch in pleasure. The redhead moved, pressing him back on the bed and climbing up beside him. He sat, naked there, pale and proper even as his stiff cock strained between his legs. Omi reached up to pull the older man down atop himself, feeling the warm weight as their lips met, quick and heated, darting tongues and teeth, a sweet taste he couldn't quite fathom. Pulling back, Aya spoke.__  
_

_  
__I need you.__  
_

_  
__Are you sure, Aya-kun?__  
_

_  
__Take me Omi.__  
_

_  
__And there was no more hesitation. Rolling over, Omi stroked his erection as he watched the redhead get onto his hands and knees, tight bottom presented with his legs slightly. Maneuvering in between those creamy thighs, he pressed in. Close warmth surrounded him as his cock sunk deep into Aya with a soft sound. A tiny pause, then with a smooth motion he began to thrust deeply, hips rocking to a steady natural rhythm, hands clenching on Aya's thin hips, the other moaning beneath him.__  
_

_Aya pressed back against him, meeting his thrusts even as they sped up. Flesh hit flesh in wonderful rapid succession. Friction, heat, Aya, it was all so much, so good--_

Omi bit his lip as a cry tried to fall from them Wet strands of white fell across his tired hand and taught tummy. He gasped for air, lying in the quiet and trying not to remember that it was all in his head.

~tbc?~

A few reviews, and I'll give you more seme Omi...strange as it is, I find him rather fascinating...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: They pretty boys are not mine; I only borrow them, strip them, and bang them together.

Author's Notes: Oooh, look, I've dug this one out of the vault and thought I'd take a whack at continuing and maybe even *gasp* finishing it. Since there's such a gap in time, I apologize for inconsistencies in style, but I hope the story will be worth it.

* * *

Ace of Hearts

Chapter Two: Hold 'Em

* * *

"Shit!" Omi cursed at the computer screen as it refused to give up the information he needed.

"You shouldn't swear," a quiet voice spoke up unexpectedly from behind him, "It's a bad habit."

"Today you told Yohji to 'move his lazy ass' or you would 'introduce his dick to the fucking garden shears.'"

He turned in his chair to view Aya sitting on the arm of the couch. When the man had entered the mission room was beyond him. He did note, however, that the slightest blush betrayed Aya's cold expression as he heard his own, unmistakable words being repeated back to him.

"That's different."

"Really?"

He sat is silent thought for a moment, "Yohji's a bad influence."

Omi smiled weakly as he turned back to the computer screen, trying again to hack the science lab's records. Aya watched him for a moment, obviously interested in the possible results of the attempt. When it resulted in another failure, but no swearing, he stood and left.

~*~

Frustrated by his lack of success, Omi left the computer. Grabbing two aspirin to assuage the headache that staring at the screen had given him, he took a Coke from the fridge and hoped the television wouldn't aggravate the pain in his temples. Ken and Yohji were already occupying the living room, attentions focused on some action movie that was novel only in its inability to produce one realistic fight sequence.

Ken occupied one end of the couch, sock feet propped on the coffee table next to a can of soda and empty paper plate. Yohji, living slightly more dangerously, had chosen a bottle of beer and what they all knew was Aya's chair. Like the couch, it was upholstered in a soft leather the color of deep red wine; sitting at a right angle to the sofa, it offered a mediocre view of the television, but access to the tall lamp made it a perfect spot for reading. Omi also suspected it kept the redhead comfortably isolated from unintentional contact with the rest of them.

Taking the other end of the sofa, Omi leaned back and rested the cool aluminum can on his stomach. It made a hiss as he popped the tab. Downing his medicine, he let his attention drift to the movie; the main character, a man in his mid-thirties with insanely defined abs, seemed to be attempting to infiltrate enemy headquarters.

"Oh, come on!" Ken suddenly burst out, throwing up his hands. "There's no way you can do that with an automatic!"

"I still can't get past the outfit," Yohji contributed. "Can you see me running after a target shirtless and with a Rambo bandana around my head?"

"You, no. Aya, well . . ." Ken shook his head with a smile. They all paused to think about it.

Yohji chuckled. Something exploded on the screen, and the three of them set about critiquing flaws in the location of the blast.

A soft creak of the stairs made Omi break off in his explanation of why the hero couldn't possibly be using plastic explosives. Aya, dressed in soft black pants and t-shirt, padded into the room. His hair was damp, and it was obvious he'd just come from the shower, probably after training. He spared the television screen a few seconds of his attention, scoffed openly at the man's leap from a rooftop, and then focused on Yohji.

"Up," he directed, clearly intending to run the blonde out of his chair.

"I was here first," Yohji defended, seemingly serious as he continued to watch the t.v., pointedly ignoring Aya as the younger man stalked over to stand directly in front of him.

"Kudou," he threatened.

"Fujimiya," the other returned, looking around him to the screen and sprawling, just a little more, in the large chair.

Aya resisted the urge to sigh, but planting one hand on his hip stiffly, he glared.

Yohji had the nerve to push at his leg a little, insinuating that he ought to move over and let him see. "You make a lousy window."

Omi and Ken watched with trepidation as Aya's eyes twitched.

"Move," he growled.

Yohji set his beer down on the small side table and looked him directly in the eye.

"No."

There was a silent moment as tension crackled between the two. Then, Aya turned and quickly dropped into Yohji's lap. Yohji 'oof'ed when the full weight of the swordsman landed across his lap, but was quick to adjust by pulling Aya close to him and snaking his right arm behind Aya's back to rest on the chair aim. He was shuffled a little when Aya's hand slid up his thigh, but the redhead was simply trying to pull his book from between the cushions and Yohji's intruding bottom. Still, it earned him a pleased smirk as he settled back to open the book across his own lap.

Ken rolled his eyes; Omi swallowed.

It really didn't happen that often. Though Yohji was constantly begging and suggesting and even grabbing, Aya prevented much of their relationship from really seeping out into the public arena. He would sit close to, but rarely actually touching, the blonde; Yohji occasionally made it to holding his hand when the room was dark enough and everyone's attention was adequately turned elsewhere, but a public kiss was out of the question. Really, the only time Omi or Ken bore witness to such events was upon their unexpected entrance into the more secluded parts of the house, and the greenhouse, that one time. More details were revealed in fights than anything else, both men willing to use personal information to wound when wounded.

Omi wasn't sure he liked the new direction this was taking. But he couldn't chastise them; they weren't even _doing_ anything. Yohji watched the movie while Aya sat on him and read, just sitting on him. Taking a breath, Omi glanced at Ken who had already forgotten the entire thing. Ken was practical like that; Aya and Yohji were gay, okay, they shared a chair, okay, the sky was going to be orange and rain wiener dogs, okay. Ken just picked up and went on. Omi envied that sometimes.

And he envied Yohji. God, how he wanted—

No, he stopped the thought, commanding himself to watch the movie and forget the computer, forget the lab, forget the Aya. That worked for all of ten minutes.

There was a bit of shuffling on his left, and, with a dread that threatened to be anticipation, Omi turned inconspicuously to see what was going on. Aya was glaring as Yohji disturbed his reading by reaching for his beer. Yohji just bore it, taking a drink before offering the bottle to his lover. Aya accepted it half-heartedly, raising the brown bottle to his lips, drinking, then making a face when he lowered it. Yohji smiled, tipping his head back to empty the bottle himself.

"I'd go get you something else if I thought you'd let me crawl back under you."

A tiny a smirk, more in his eyes than on his lips, as Aya turned to whisper something in Yohji's ear, their cheeks almost touching as he spoke. The blonde shifted uncomfortably, Aya whispered again and was pulled more firmly against the older man.

"Well," Yohji sighed, his right arm moving to rest on the other's thin waist, "Now neither of us is going anywhere."

Aya shrugged, going back to his book. Omi noticed that he didn't turn the pages as quickly. Finding himself suddenly out of soda, Omi thought it necessary to be courteous as he headed back to the kitchen.

"Would you like another beer, Yohji-kun?"

"Thanks chibi," he smiled as he passed Ken the empty which was passed to Omi.

"Aya-kun?"

A shake of the head indicated a negative, but Yohji's voice followed him.

"There's a Smirnoff Ice in the drawer."

His head already in the refrigerator, Omi pulled open the drawer and debated if bringing the drink would put him into the bad graces of Aya. Doing the opposite was just as likely to have the same results. With a sigh, he snagged the clear bottle along with a beer and two Cokes and returned to distribute them.

Ken offered a thanks, distracted by the rather busty blond thing that was trying to seduce the hero by being completely helpless. As his intermediary was out of it, Omi was forced to approach the couple. Yohji reached out a hand, his eyes aimed at the screen where the woman's top had somehow been ripped off one shoulder. Aya spared him a glare, but turned to Omi to accept his drink. He elbowed Yohji, not too kindly.

"Thanks," the blonde mumbled, apparently speaking for both of them.

As Omi settled back on the couch to debate whether he should have brought something stronger back for himself, he watched Aya watch Yohji as he ogled the exposed girl. Omi wasn't sure how she'd lost the shirt completely, but he thought she was doing too much bouncing to be seriously injured. Aya's thoughts seem to be running along similar, although more homicidal, lines.

Holding the untouched bottle of Smirnoff between his hands, he glared at Yohji; the blonde continued to stare at the screen obliviously. The anger was clear, but Omi thought he saw hurt in that glare, somewhere beneath the hard, cold anger. The youngest boy was absolutely certain that was he lucky enough to get Aya to sit on his lap, he wouldn't stare at anything else. Ever.

He thought Aya might move. Maybe he would come sit by Omi on the couch. Maybe Omi could 'accidentally' let their fingers touch, or maybe he could just pull Aya into his lap, run heated touches all over those bare arms, under his shirt, give him hot kisses until the pale man was rubbing up against him desperately.

Omi clamped his teeth together almost painfully to stifle the sound. Once again he ordered himself to stop it. Crossing his legs, he leaned back against the cool leather of the sofa and watched. Just watched.

The hero was making his exit, toting the nearly naked girl tucked close against his broad chest as explosions fired behind them. Sloppy, he thought, cutting it that close. A convenient scene change brought them to her apartment, no, her bedroom, with its satin sheets and insane number of pillow. He laid her on the bed and, after backing off so the camera could pan up her body, was crawling on top of her.

Ken and Yohji seemed rapt, and Omi wondered if they were breathing. Aya was concentrating on drinking.

When the girl moaned, loudly, Aya shot a venomous glare at Yohji. The blonde looked at him, finally and guiltily. When green eyes, perhaps not of their own will, flicked back to the screen, Aya got up. It was a surprisingly graceful movement, considering he had a book to deal with and a bottle occupying one hand, but, Omi believed as an afterthought, he did manage to poke his elbow painfully into Yohji's ribs.

"Aya," the blonde sighed, absently rubbing his side. "C'mon, sit down."

But Aya, book, and bottle went silently into the kitchen.

~*~

"You shouldn't drink."

Aya turned from his hunt in the freezer, closing the door with the hand not holding the sizeable bottle of Absolut Blue vodka.

"It's a bad habit," Omi added, trying a smile.

Aya retrieved a shot glass, Yohji's, from the top shelf of the cabinet.

"Aya-kun, I know Yohji-kun hurt your feelings—"

"No," he spat, turning a glare on Omi that threatened death if he kept making crazy assumptions like Aya having feelings. Omi didn't dare open his mouth again in his presence, and the redhead ascended the stairs in silence. Quietly, Omi took a seat at the kitchen table, opening and closing the book Aya had abandoned.

~tbc?~

Author's Note: So, what do we think? Shall I continue this or let it sink slowly back into oblivion?


	3. Chapter 3

Ace of Hearts

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Cody Thomas, tae_wing, and Joybug for the reviews! I really appreciate the time you took to comment on this; it motivated me to keep it going and strive to meet your expectations for naked pretty boys.

Chapter Three: Kicker

Omi didn't go after him. He watched Aya retreat with the bottle, thinking of how he might go and offer comfort. That hadn't worked so well, just then, what with the redhead snapping his head off and all. But maybe once Aya had a couple drinks in him…

Omi rested his hand on the abandoned book and considered the scenario, trying his best to compose a realistic plan rather than idealistic daydreams that wouldn't be of any assistance if he genuinely intended to go after the man.

He would be sitting on the bed, Omi was sure, vodka resting on the nightstand and shot glass in his hand. He wouldn't drink too much, not like Yohji, just enough…

_Aya's head was down, staring sadly at the small circle of clear liquor at the top of the glass. Omi entered quietly, closing the door silently behind him and tarrying there, just a moment, as he surveyed the situation. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dim, gray-white moonlight filtering through the window._

"_Aya-kun? Are you all right?"_

_He didn't answer, didn't move. Cautiously, half sure the other had fallen asleep over his drink, Omi approached, at the ready to retreat if the proximity turned against him. When he was beside the bed, he knew Aya wasn't asleep; he was clutching the shot glass too hard, cupping it like a lifeline between his hands._

"_Aya?"_

_Nothing._

"_Look at me," he requested. Omi felt his frustration grow; here he was, trying to be nice, trying to smooth over Yohji's mistake. He was not going to be ignored. He demanded, "Look at me."_

_Hesitantly, amethyst eyes met his own as Aya brought up his head. Quickly, he slammed back the shot, plinking the glass on the nightstand and glaring at Omi. The threat was clear, but severely mitigated by the flush spread across Aya's face, all too obvious against his pallid skin._

_He reached for the bottle; Omi's hand landed on top of his, and he paused._

"_Stop it," Omi ordered, "Stop hurting yourself because of him."_

_A glare._

"_You don't have to do this."_

"_I want to forget…"_

"_Forget the drink, Aya. Leave it," he drew away the hand, bringing it to his own chest as he sat down on the edge of the bed, still facing the other. _

"_Omi?" He stared at his captured hand, unsure of the gentle gesture, not entirely liking it._

"_I'll help you. I'll help—I'll make you forget."_

_Their eyes met, and Omi watched in amazement as defiance softened into acceptance. He didn't know how he had gotten so close, but he went with it, crushing his lips against Aya's. The kiss was warm and dry, and Omi clutched Aya's hand as he pressed his tongue against the tense line of the other's mouth. Aya made him work for it, finally relenting, tilting his head into the kiss as Omi's tongue plunged into his mouth, running over his own, tasting the sharp bite of the vodka._

_Omi released Aya's hand to run his own fingers down the pale man's sides, feeling the thin waist, the slight trembling of muscles. He didn't linger long, knowing he couldn't. His searching fingers brushed the denim of Aya's jeans, sinking into his thighs as Omi scooted closer, kneeling on the bed in between Aya's spread knees, still kissing him as his hands massaged the swordsman's inner thighs._

_Aya shifted, but not away. He moved into Omi, breaking their kiss to ghost his lips down Omi's neck, light touches, tentative in contrast to the uncontrolled thrust of his hips that fought to meet the blonde's touches that continued to inch closer to his zipper— _

Ken was staring at him.

Well, so much for his realistic scenario. Omi wondered how in the world he ever made it through a mission plan.

"Okay?" Ken asked, tossing his paper plate in the garbage.

"Yeah." Omi took a breath and shook his head, knowing very well he couldn't get up from the table without embarrassing himself. "Just thinking about the mission."

"No luck on the lab stuff?"

"Not yet."

"Well, don't stay up too late on it."

"I won't."

Ken nodded, giving him one more evaluating look before heading up the stairs and to his own bed.

Omi waited for almost an hour, but Yohji never went after Aya. No one did.

~* ~

Yohji felt like shit on an emotional level, but Aya had the corner on really feeling it.

Yohji had slept on the couch, knowing that going upstairs was only going to get his ass kicked. He knew the redhead would be in his, Yohji's, bed; it hadn't been bad enough to run him back to his own room, and Yohji didn't like to sleep in there. But just because their mutual sleeping spot started out as Yohji's bed did not mean Aya had any qualms over kicking the blonde out of it when it suited him, and it would certainly have suited him last night.

Really, he didn't feel too guilty over the movie. Aya's little comment about crawling under him had got him started. Just hearing the words, feeling the warm whisper against his ear, the brush of Aya's hair on his cheek as the man quietly suggested possible positions (and in public, no less) brought his dick to attention. And after it was awake, well, it wasn't exactly discriminating.

He had responded, inadvertently, to the actress's lusty moans, half watching the screen and half thinking about the man in his lap.

Of course, Aya didn't know that and Yohji came off looking like an ass. That didn't mean he was going to trot upstairs after Aya trying to make some lame apology; he had a little pride. He also, despite his boyfriend's observations to the contrary, had some sense, and that told him that going after Aya would only result in a fight.

Yohji didn't want to fight.

He hadn't realized that Aya had taken a little company upstairs. While Yohji's bottle of vodka was probably preferable to any of the warm bodies the redhead could have gone out to find, it wasn't ideal. If he had known, Yohji would have followed, maybe not to take it away, but at least to drink half the bottle.

But he hadn't known.

So there he was, at a little after six on a Wednesday morning, feeling the cold tile on his bare feet and holding back Aya's hair as he vomited.

He was taking a few ragged breaths now, pale hands holding tightly to the toilet's sides as he rested his forehead against its cool rim.

"You're beautiful when you drink," Yohji commented, summoning as much sarcasm as he could at such an early hour. The middle finger raised in his direction trembled a little. Yohji smirked, but it fell away quickly as Aya tensed again and grabbed for the porcelain bowl.

That seemed to be the last of it. As the swordsman reached shakily for the lever, Yohji let go of his sweat-damp hair to wet a clean washcloth at the sink. Aya dropped backwards, getting his back against the tub and drawing his knees up to provide a rest for his head.

"Hate you," he mumbled as Yohji reached to wipe his mouth. Folding the cloth in half, he gently washed Aya's face.

"You owe me two thousand yen for the booze. I can't believe you drank the whole damn thing."

"Wasn't full."

Yohji snorted as he crouched beside the other, "Pretty damn close."

"I was mad."

"Yeah," he reached out to brush Aya's bangs back, seeing his eyes pinched shut against the light. Plucking the sunglasses from his own head, he pressed them into Aya's hand. "Here."

A tiny turn of Aya's lips indicated he heard, and when he slipped the dark glasses on his face, Yohji knew he had been forgiven. Even if Aya did refuse to kiss him until after he got to brush his teeth.

~*~

Omi rolled over and shoved the pillow over his head. Hearing Aya throw up did not play well into his fantasies. More importantly, it made him feel horrible. He should have followed him, intervened between him and his passive-aggressive tendencies, at least listened to him complain about how awful it was with Yohji. Now that, Omi decided, did work well with his fantasies. But just before he sink into pleasing thoughts of comforting the object of his unrequited affections, he heard Aya being sick again; it was thoroughly real and thoroughly uncomfortable.

~tbc~

Author's Note: Every time I try to figure out the plot of this fic, the Evil Hentai Slug leans over and whispers "threesome" in my ear. I've only written one of those, so I'm still not sure, but perhaps at least some action with three participants. Hopefully Omi's fantasies will hold you all over until I can work my way up to the good stuff! Thanks for reading, and please review so the Evil Hentai Slug will have something else to do besides give me ideas.


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